


Happy Life Day (war is over)

by Oriki-Miitad (Sneaking_UnicornWitch)



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Life Day (Star Wars), M/M, Shebnanigans, Squad Shebs, Star Wars AU - Soft Wars, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, brothers being brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneaking_UnicornWitch/pseuds/Oriki-Miitad
Summary: Squad Shebs are having a Life Day dinner, adjacents included. Or, Hardcase eats too much and wears a nifty sweater.
Relationships: Hardcase/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 32
Kudos: 64
Collections: Open Source Soft Wars, Soft Wars Fic Exchange





	Happy Life Day (war is over)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dridri93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dridri93/gifts).



> For dridri93, the prompts I used were General, Soft Wars, Hardcase/Wolffe, Fluff.
> 
> I’ve not written the Shebse as a group before, but this was a huge amount of fun to write!! I really hope you like it Kix!
> 
> *  
> Title adapted without shame from John Lennon’s Merry Xmas (war is over).
> 
> Soft Wars and its characterisations are Projie's wonderful work, I just play in the sandbox.

Kix had once said that Hardcase didn’t know the meaning of fear. He’d said it just before he added, “Hardcase doesn’t know the meaning of lots of words,” but he had taken the compliment nonetheless. 

He isn’t feeling so fearless right now. 

It’s not the first time he’s met most of them, it’s not even like he’ll be the only CT there, though that was _mostly_ owing to the fact that Commander Ponds’ adoption instincts had kicked in so karking young.

But the _Alor'_ s General had Come Home, which was a big thing for the two of them. Which meant it was a big thing for Wolffe and the rest of his squad. Which meant that Squad Shebs were having an early Life Day meal, and the Shebse-adjacent were expected. And that? That meant him.

“You’re _not_ wearing that to Dinner.” 

“Am too,” childish, but effective. 

He gets his expected eyeroll, but no further dissent. Score for Hardcase!

Roger sees them off from the porch, his chest cavity twinkling from the lights he’s wrapped around his foliage. 

*

When they arrive at Cody and Obi-Wan’s house there are voices spilling from an open window, lights on in the hall. Hardcase is pulled into a crushing hug as soon as he begins to knock on the door. 

“How much for your sweater?” whispers a voice next to his ear. 

Hardcase laughs loud as he’s swept down the hall and into a room crammed with people. Looks like they were the last to arrive. 

The _ade_ have been left with responsible others for the evening, ostensibly so they can all relax. Wolffe had grumbled earlier that it was at least partially because the Captain didn’t trust Fox to limit his vocabulary around the littles.

He’s handed a glass of something hot and spicy smelling. A hand jabs into his side and as he struggles to protect his flank _and_ not drop his drink he’s pulled in tight-close to a body, an arm snaking around his shoulders. No amount of twisting loosens the grip.

“I wasn’t joking, vod. I love that sweater. Where did you even get it? Did Wolffe make it for you?”

Everyone knows Wolffe as the knitter. Many evenings together featured the _clack clack_ of needles as background noise. But on some nights Hardcase enjoyed how working his way through a pattern could take him out of his head, sometimes he needed the sense of achievement as he saw the work taking shape. 

Tiny helmets surround the waist and cuffs, interspersed with rotary blasters. In the middle is an only slightly lumpy depiction of a jumpscare. The rest of the sweater is made up of rows of tiny stars, lightsabers, and jaig eyes. Around the collar are loth-wolves with hats on. Blue and Gray aren’t traditionally clashing colors, but somehow he’d managed it. It was pretty. Pretty ugly.

He loves it. Ponds clearly loves it too. Wolffe will learn to love it, maybe.

“Made it myself,” he preens, just a bit. He’s released from the crushing hold and doesn’t mourn the contact.

Ponds, wearing a blinding mix of lurid and festive, a far cry from what any of them wore _before_ , compliments him on the sweater. They share a grin, one between those who are fully aware of the impact of their fashion choices on the retinas of others, and then Ponds is off towards the kitchen and he’s left alone. 

Wolffe’s been drawn into a conversation with Fox, Bly, and Bly’s Jedi; Hardcase doesn’t want to interrupt. 

Bacara and his Jedi are talking as quietly as Master Fisto gets. 

The Captain is sprawled out on a low sofa with Cody talking to an older vod Hardcase doesn’t recognise but knows instinctively that this must be the Shebse’s Alpha. 

He shifts nervously on his feet, uncertain where he’d be welcome.

He had been told in no uncertain terms he was _not_ allowed to help Kenobi with the cooking, which is entirely fair after the clusterkark of the last Torrent dinner. Kix’s eyebrows were growing back fine though, so he can’t see what _most_ of the fuss was all about.

“‘Case, you okay? Come on, sit.” Rex calls out, including him in the circle, before he is off, grabbing a soft round seat and dragging it over to the sofa. Hardcase sinks into it further than he expects, arms leaping up to keep his balance. Cody steadies him and he settles down, flicking his head up to hold eye contact in greeting with the older clone. 

“Hardcase, this is 17, the one who had to put up with all of our _osik_. 17, this is Hardcase. I had to put up with all of his _osik_ \- he was my Heavy Gunner, and now he’s Wolffe’s.”

It’s not an incorrect description at all, and he grins as 17 looks him over with an appraising eye. He’s still a little giddy at being Wolffe’s.

Rex starts talking into Cody’s shoulder, and there’s a beat or two of a lengthening awkward silence before 17 asks, “So, how did you and Wolffe meet then, Hardcase?”

“I kept on exploding shit, and he kept pummelling me into the floor,” Hardcase shrugs, “eventually we caught on that it meant we liked each other?”

There are further levels to that, but he’s not going to get into them. Jesse had finally talked with him once he’d raked in his sizeable winnings. Turns out, there was a lot Hardcase had missed in the moment. He wonders what this Alpha-brother knows about it from the other direction.

“Well, at least it didn’t take you as long as Fox. Or Ponds.” There’s a resigned sigh that reminds Hardcase of the one Roger makes when someone - Zeke. It’s usually Zeke - does something ‘organically idiotic’. 

*

They eat their fill, table groaning with dishes piled high. On Kamino they were fed only what they needed for optimum performance. During the war even that was too much to ask for. Scarcity was a given for them all, Vode and Jedi, some more so than than others. 

Their _vod’alor_ has worked hard to make sure no one goes without at Home. Hardcase knows he’s now solid where he was just strong, filling out his clothes. He’d even grown an inch! And while they try to have enough to share with brothers on _any_ day, at celebrations on Concord Dawn? Well, any excuse for a feast.

It’s merry, people passing dishes around, making sure everyone eats their fill. Master Kenobi loads more of a sticky, spicy yet sweet, roast tuber on his plate when his eyes light up at his first taste. Ponds and Fox are quietly bickering about who gets the last of the bottle, to nobody’s surprise, but Hardcase can pick out the love mixed up in it. Nobody ever said the Shebse were normal.

Bly keeps feeding General ‘Call me Aayla’ Secura tastes of food from his fork while Rex makes gagging faces when he turns away. Wolffe snickers next to him and gets shot with a look of warning by Cody. There’s an easy familiarity to it that Hardcase loves to see, enjoying getting to see Wolffe so comfortable with his brothers. 

By the end of the meal Hardcase is stuffed, feeling a dull kind of drowsy. He’s so out of it he’s almost surprised when Bly pulls out a box of small poppers and hands one to each of them.

The Marine is tense, half a table away. Marble might move more. 

They pull the tabs, and the table gets covered in long strands of colourful confetti. A minor panicked scramble happens when a string gets too acquainted with the lit flame at the centre of the table, but catastrophe is averted before any overzealous fire suppression systems get involved. 

Hardcase is a vod who knows his explosions. This is not a brag. Jesse once told him, “it’s not bragging if it’s true”. 

And this year he’s used all of his know-how, usually dedicated to making shit go **boom** , to creating something for his brothers with a little less _bang_. The casings are based originally on the very smallest of Kix’s bombs, and it had taken ages to create something with enough _go_ but no _blast_ that was _portable_. He’s pretty proud of the result.

The Marine has unfrozen himself. Hardcase sees his Jedi slink an arm down to rest on his thigh, grounding and present.

*

Back in the living room they lounge with top-ups of the spicy hot wine. It sits warm in his chest, adds to the fuzzies in his brain. Nobody seems to have the urge to move much further for a while. Something lightly tinkly is playing over the sound system, and it’s a soothing complement to the murmur of voices. 

He’s got a solid wall of Wolffe next to him, pinning him into a plush sofa, and between the weight and the food and the drink it’s making him sluggish and snug. The conversation washes over him and his eyes feel heavy. 

*

“C’mon, _Cas’ika_. Let’s get you home,” urges Wolffe, what feels like moments later. Gritty eyes don’t want to cooperate, but he pries his eyelids open and blearily looks around.

The room has emptied. Bly and his Jedi must have already gone, and Hardcase thinks he can hear Ponds and Fox in the hallway saying their goodbyes to Obi-Wan. On the other sofa a sniggering Nautolan is stacking a ridiculous number of cushions on top of Rex, fast asleep.

Wolffe gives him a look as if to say, “Look how good I am to you.” Hardcase gives him one back that he hopes says “I’ve never doubted it” but might come off as “Hardcase isn’t here right now please leave a holomessage”. He’s not sure he isn’t still sleeping, everything is a little woolly and lagging.

They wave a silent goodbye to Rex’s Jedi, and a peek into the dining room nets them Cody, Bacara, and 17 sitting back at the long table. Any conversation stops on their approach, and as they step away once farewells are over Wolffe just shrugs at his questioning look. 

Obi-Wan is still in the hall as they grab their thick coats. He drags Hardcase into a hug that threatens his spinal integrity and chuckles in solidarity when Wolffe is put through the same wringer. 

They have almost managed to escape when Cody comes bustling through with plastiware containers full of leftovers for them to take with. 

*

Most of the journey home is in silence, Hardcase knows that Wolffe can get a bit talked-out, especially around his brothers.

But as they get off the rail, begin the walk out to their - _their_ \- farm, Wolffe asks, “So, how much did Ponds offer you for the sweater?”

Hardcase grins. His breath hangs frosty in the air in front of him. “I got him up to five hundred in the end. No way I’m getting rid of it for anything less than a round grand.”

Wolffe’s silent judgement goads him on.

“I am going to send him the pattern though.”

A Kark-You-Kindly gets flicked off as Wolffe grumbles, “He’s only going to bully me into making it for him.”

Hardcase hums a noncommittal sort of sympathy. Wolffe doesn’t actually begrudge his brother anything, and Hardcase knows it. He can’t wait to show Wolffe his matching sweater, constructed in secret. It’s got the wolfpack symbol in the middle, plus the usual assortment of kitschy patterns. He has already conspired with Comet to make sure Plo gets very very sad if he’s not wearing it on their next holo. 

Roger has one too.

*

Finally they make it back to the farm, bones warm despite the bitter chill. Wolffe’s arm is anchored around him, pressing heat, as they walk up to the house. Once they’re through the door Hardcase can hear Roger in another room, humming something to himself with a mechanical sort of tunefulness. The leftovers get placed in the conservator, ready to reheat tomorrow. 

Upstairs, they slowly get undressed, ready for bed. Hardcase is still a little far past too full for comfort as he bends to grab his trousers off the floor. Wolffe groans, obviously similarly afflicted. It’s Master Kenobi’s fault for cooking too well. 

“How many more Life Day dinners have we got to go?” Wolffe moans.

“Well there’s the ‘Pack dinner on Taungsday, then Kix and Jesse are hosting the smaller Torrent one the day after.” He considers, ticking them off on his fingers. “And I think my squaddies are planning a get-together as well? Plus the actual day here at the farm, of course, but that’ll just be us and Roger.”

He manages a small moment of reflection as he talks. _Karking hells_. There is no physical way he’s going to be able to eat like this another four times in the next tenday. Wolffe’s pained sigh means he’s worked out the same thing.

“We’ll try our best, eh?”

Hardcase turns on the radio and climbs into bed; curling in tight around and over his boyfriend, a bulwark. He splays a hand across Wolffe’s chest and mouths a kiss to the back of his neck, eyes falling shut. Sometimes it can take him a while to switch everything off in his brain, but he’s still warm and full and he finds himself dozing again sooner rather than later.

The last he hears is a quiet _Night Cas’ika_ , feeling the rumble of the words through the palm of his hand, and then sleep takes over.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write all this and then realise that Anakin is also shebse-adjacent? Yes. My in universe excuse - he’s also an ad, so he has to stay away. My out of universe excuse? I forgot until very late in the game...


End file.
